


Reflections

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Antagonism, Gen, Makeup, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need you to do my eyeliner.”</p>
<p>Kirin jumps, bites down on a growl when the motion spills the Redstone soup he’d been brewing over the floor and the hem of his robes. It hisses, sizzles, burns at the cloth and the wood of the floor, and he whirls around to huff curses at the irritation he’s sure has just appeared behind him.</p>
<p>The words die in his throat at the way Lying’s shaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> based on a conversation i had with -themadhatter- on tumblr about lying in makeup, the potential of a really creepy kyofushin storyline, and angst. draft title was "shut the fuck up and do my goddamn eyeliner u prick" for those that are curious.

 “I need you to do my eyeliner.”

Kirin jumps, bites down on a growl when the motion spills the Redstone soup he’d been brewing over the floor and the hem of his robes. It hisses, sizzles, burns at the cloth and the wood of the floor, and he whirls around to huff curses at the irritation he’s sure has just appeared behind him.

The words die in his throat at the way Lying’s shaking.

It’s slight, a faint tremor in one tightly-clenched fist, but it’s there, and it’s enough to stop Kirin in his tracks. He pauses, swallows down the mild curses, recalibrates. “How on earth did you get in here?”

Lying scoffs, no hint of the way their hands are trembling in their voice. “You really don’t have this place lit up _nearly_ well enough to get rid of all the shadows,” they say, casually, as if breaking into Kirin’s house is no mean feat. They stretch out a hand towards the slightly darkened corner, smile at the trails of translucent black that wind over their fingers. “It’s not hard, with a little help.”

“The shadows. Of course.” Kirin’s not even sure why he’s surprised, sighs and drags a hand across his face as he clears the spilled redstone soup with a thought. When he looks, Lying’s hand still hasn’t stopped shaking. “Well, points for creativity, I suppose, but minus points for manners. I do have a front door.”

Lying sighs, rolls their eyes. “I’m aware,” they say, words tinged with sarcasm. “Considering I’m hardly here for a social call, I thought you wouldn’t mind me taking a shortcut. I repeat. I need you to do my eyeliner.” They fish in the sleeve of their robe, pull out a fine-tipped brush and a small bottle of water that Kirin somehow doubts was actually physically stored in there.

He takes them, nevertheless, peers curiously at the brush and then frowns at Lying. “What happened to me being a clumsy oaf?”  
“Things change,” says Lying. There’s no room for argument in their tone, a clear _end of conversation_ ringing in each syllable.

Kirin respects that, despite his curiosity. Instead, he beckons Lying forward, uncorks the bottle and dips the brush into it to wet it ever so slightly. Setting the bottle down on the altar behind him, he catches Lying’s chin with one hand and ignores the other witch’s grumbling. “If you keep complaining, you’re going to move, and then I’ll mess this up,” he says, calmly, tongue between his teeth in concentration.

Thankfully, Lying stills at that, closes their eyes. The faint distaste twisting at their lips doesn’t leave, though, and Kirin can only guess as to whether it’s directed at the physical contact or at the knowledge that Kirin isn’t the ideal candidate for delicate tasks such as this.

He’s not _entirely_ incompetent, though, can at least apply eyeliner – although he has to admit, there’s a considerable difference between regular eyeliner and attempting to coax the slightly tacky blood that rims Lying’s eyes into something resembling makeup. It’s tricky, frustrating, but he’s patient with it, coaxing the blood into smooth, wet lines rather than sticky clumps.

The water in the bottle turns a slightly darker shade of cloudy pink with every dip of the brush.

Unsurprisingly, his careful efforts aren’t enough to satisfy Lying. “You’re making the wings uneven,” they say, mild irritation in their voice as Kirin drags the brush out from the corner of their left eye in a careful curve, smearing damp blood in its wake. They reach up a hand to try and touch, feel what Kirin’s done, apparently heedless of the fact that they’ll smudge what little progress has been made in the process.

Kirin bats Lying’s hand away, sighs a little at the interference – and then hastily suppresses a flinch when Lying’s arm _flickers_. Versed as he is in magic, he recognises a glamour when he sees it, and he knows Lying’s fond of illusion magics, so it’s not the flicker itself that alarms him. It’s what’s underneath the illusion.

There are fine scratches running down the length of Lying’s arm, from elbow to wrist and over the back of his hand. Their fingers seem to have taken the worst of the damage, deeper cuts there that mar the digits and aren’t quite enough to distract from the fact that Lying’s usually immaculate red-lacquered nails are broken and ragged, the polish on them chipped.

“Lying?” says Kirin, quietly, curiosity and something verging dangerously close to concern in his voice. He moves the brush away from Lying’s eyelid, watches as they open their eyes in confusion. “What’s this?” It’s a stupid question, because he knows exactly what this is, just doesn’t know _why_. “Those- you should probably tend to them.”

Lying swallows hard, thinks of smashed mirrors and glass, of clawed-up machines, of the ruined mess that is now their well after what they’d done. Thinks of the face that was their own and somehow _not_ staring at them from every reflective surface, smiling wide and mocking. “It’s none of your business,” they say, voice sharp and just the slightest bit strangled. “I asked you to do my eyeliner, not give me your _expert_ medical opinion.”

The words provoke a wince, but Kirin doesn’t let go of their wrist.  “I could help, if you want,” he says, trying his best to sound casual. “There are some potions in the system somewhere, I’m sure, or I could ask Su to-” He catches himself with the faintest of sighs, a slight downwards twitch of his lips. “I’m sure I could mix something up for you, or I could-”

Wrenching their wrist from Kirin’s grip with a snarl, Lying bares their needle-sharp teeth at him in a mocking grin. “You’re a _witch_ , and a blood mage,” they point out, words ice cold and furious. “Do you really think I’m _stupid_ enough to let you anywhere near my blood?” It’s a rhetorical question, one they don’t leave Kirin the time to answer. “Besides, whose fault is it that I was stuck in that _thrice-damned_ well in the first place, hmm? What on _earth_ makes you think I would be _stupid_ enough to trust you, of all people?”

They’re aware they’re breathing hard, shoulders hunched up a little and hands shaking even worse than before, but they ignore it, stare at Kirin viciously and feel a modicum of satisfaction when he refuses to meet their eyes.

For a long moment, there’s silence, the expression on Kirin’s face unfathomable. Lying can’t tell whether he’s trying to hide a look of remorse or irritation – isn’t sure they actually care which it is.

Eventually, Kirin lets his hand fall back to his side, from where it had been hanging in the air between them. “Let me finish your eyeliner,” he says, quietly, and though it’s phrased as a demand there’s a certain amount of hesitance behind it.

“Yes,” says Lying, a little sharply. “Yes, I’d be grateful if you continued to do what I asked you to in the first place.” They don’t quite manage to keep the biting, borderline aggressive sarcasm out of their voice, anger threaded through it all.

Still, when Kirin touches their chin again, tilts it up with calloused fingers, they don’t fight him. Instead, they close his eyes, relax a little when they feel the touch of the brush against their skin, slow and soothing. Behind their eyelids, their reflection flickers in broken pieces like the glass now covering the floor of their well – eyeliner-less and sallow-cheeked and grinning.

Despite the warmth of Kirin’s hands, they can’t quite manage to resist the urge to shudder.


End file.
